Puck's Topsy Turvy Days
by Annabeth Darcy
Summary: Puck finds himself thrown back in time to Medieval Paris...and into the arms of a handsome gypsy king. Warning:Slash. Gargoyles/HoND  c  Disney
1. Chapter 1

**Fandoms:Gargoyles/Hunchback of Notre Dame**

**Disclaimer:Gargoyles and HoND (c) Disney**

**Pairing:PuckXClopin**

**Rating:T-M Strong sexual themes and strong language(sometimes)**

**Manhattan, 1997**

Owen Burnett stopped to shuffle a stack of papers strewn across his employer's desk before exiting the newly cleaned room. Marking a final check on the list in his hand, he smiled. His work was done for the evening. When he looked at his watch, however, he frowned. Only eight o'clock. Normally he would be working into the wee hours of the night, but as the Xanatos' were away on vacation, Alexander was not there for Owen to care for, or for Puck to train. Though Owen felt it was terribly cliché'd concidering his personality, he had to admit that he felt, well...bored. He pushed up his thin-framed glasses, noticing a tick layer of dust on his fingertips as he did so. Dusting David Xanatos' living room had proven to be dirtier work since the return of Goliath's clan.

He walked down the long hallway, heading for the second kitchen that Xanatos had had constructed after the chef and Broadway had started getting into arguements about who could work where and who could use who's flour. Even now he could here someone of gargoyle nature opening and closing the vast refrigerator. Mental note; soon he would need to go shopping. He walked into the empty kitchen, which was much neater and cleaner than the gargoyles'. Making his way to the large double sink in the back of the room, he turned on the cold faucet and rinsed his hands in the cool water. He looked up at the mirror hanging over the basin, staring at his bland, square feature as he washed his hands. Turning off the faucet, he took of his glasses and, tucking them into his shirt pocket, rubbed his still wet hands, one flesh and one stone, over his tired eyes.

"I grow weary of this form," he mumbled as the room was lost in a glowing light, his body shrinking slightly to fit the shape of the elven trickster known as Puck. "Ahh, that's better." Puck smiled, drawing his hands from his face and flexing the fingers of his left hand. "Oh, shoot," he pouted, noticing his hands were still wet. He searched for a rag of some sort, but seeing none he walked out of the room, holding his hands out in front of him.

He poked his head into the doorway of the opposite room. "Hello, anyone know where a towel might be?"

Goliath looked up from the couch he was reclining on. "I'm afraid not, Owe-oh, Puck." Sourness sank into his tone. "Were you aware that Owen's voice lingers a bit when you transform?" Puck raised his fingers to his lips, as if he might be able to touch such a thing. Goliath rolled his eyes. "Why have you chaged forms? Alexander is not here for you to teach."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say; you can never never have too much Puck in your life."

"Hmmm." Goliath grumbled, annoyed.

"So, I suppose there's no towels in here then?" Goliath glared at Puck for a moment. "I'll take that as a no," he said, stepping out of the den. "Perhaps there's some in the bathroom," he mumbled to himself. He turned to face the end of the hall.

He walked to the end of the passageway, going by a bedroom on his way. His eyes widened when he heard the sounds emanating from behind the closed door, and he quickly covered his pointed ears. "Oh!" he exclained, his long, white hair now damp. Hearing the revolting sounds again, he decided that having wet hair was better than hearing _that_. Running to the bathroom now, he quickly jerked open the door and slammed it shut behind him. Mental notes were more of an Owen thing, but he made one to himself then and there: never pass by Angela and Broadway's room without earplugs again.

Grateful for the silence, Puck looked around the small room until at last he found a towel. Drying his hands on the blue fabric, he tried to get the voices of the two gargoyles out of his mind, ignoring the disgusting images that were filling his mind. Two beings joined in such a way...the thought made him want to vomit. Sex had never appealed to him. In fact, it disgusted him. He had never even had romantic feelings for anyone. And females in general...they just seemed too airy and light. Elves were all too perfect. Too unattainable, in a sense. And the thought of chasing a little white haired tike that would scarcely be more of a child than him-no. Alexander was plenty enough for him.

He was contemplating whether to stay until he heard the next door open or to make a quick dash back to the study when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something shiny glittering from behind the toilet. Curious, he bent down, grasping the golden edge of the hidden object with his fingers. "Well, well, well," he smiled, turning the crest-shaped object over in his hands. "What have we here?"

A golden-ridged artifact glittered under the dim light. Puck stared bitterly at the golden phoenix crying against the blue background. He traced his fingers over the four points of the beautiful object. "The Phoenix Gate," Puck's voice dripped with sardonicism. "Would've been helpful to have you around here about a year ago."

"Let's see," Puck thought aloud. "If Goliath threw you into the vortex of time, how'd you end up in Xanatos' bathroom?" He snapped his fingers. "Of course! You were practically swimming in Avalon'd magic. You must have been sent where you needed to be." He smiled at his good luck. "Now, the question is, why were you needed here? Well, it certaintly wasn't for my sake." He grinned mischieviously. "But, no one else knows you're here, so who would miss you if just decided to use you for my own benefit?"

Still smiling, he stood up. Holding the talisman above his head, he whispered, "_Deflagrate muri tempi et intervalia!_"

The room began to spin. Brilliant colors swam around the trickster, the light nearly blinding him, and he began to feel dizzy. Time travel always did leave Puck feeling a little travel sick. He reached down to lean on the disappearing sink, but his hand slipped, sending him tumbling to the floor. Holding tight to the Phoenix Gate, his forehead hit the shifting ground hard. As the colors continued to dance around him, Puck's eye's closed as the darkness clouded his spinning mind.

Puck rubbed his aching head, blinking at the painfully bright sun. He could taste the ground against his lips on the warm ground beneath him, and with much exertion pushed himself up onto his knees. _Where am I? _He eyed his surroundings, which consisted of a tree behind him, sparce grass about his legs, and a small cobblestone path stretched out in front of him. He stood and started down the short path, which led to the edges of a large town. Buildings sprung up where there had been trees just moments before. Children ran about barefoot, dashing in and out of alleys, just beyond the reach of their mothers. A fruit stand was constructed in front of a bakery. A man at the other end of the street claimed to be selling fish for just two pounds per dozen. A well sat in the center of it all.

He recieved a few stares from the villagers. He looked down at his red and purple tunic, then back at their modest aprons and trousers. The people dressed as though they had walked straight out of Alexander's _Beauty and the Beast _tape. He now realized that the question wasn't where was he; it was _when _was he.

He turned upon hearing the jovial chatter of children and the jingle of silver being throw into a hat. At the far end of the square, a caravan covered in exoctic looking rugs was set up and surrounded by children and a few adults. A dark-skinned woman was dancing for the crowd as a similar man played a flute outside the caravan, while inside, another tan character was putting on a puppet show for the children.

Puck watched all this with confusion. How did he end up here? He had intended to go back to about a year ago to see if he could change Oberon's relinquishing of his powers, so how had he winded up in France? Seeing a wrinkled paper under the toe of his pointed boots, he reached down to grab it. On it there appeared to be an article of some sort. It was a newspaper. Puck skimmed along the edges of the dirty parchment until he found what he was looking for in the bottom-right corner.

It read: _In this parish of Paris, France 1482_

_to be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Story Type:Crossover**

**Fandoms:Gargoyles/Hunchback of Notre Dame**

**Disclaimers:All main charas and fandoms (c) Disney**

**Pairing:PuckXClopin**

**Rating:T-M Strong Sexual Content and Language(sometimes)**

Pucked groaned, letting the paper flutter to the ground as he slapped his hand to his forehead. Paris. He was in Paris. Not only that, he was in Paris _five hundred and fifteen years _in the past. To a time of thieves, peasants, kings, and no indoor plumbing. Not a time period he was really jumping to return to. _No matter_, he thought, reaching into the pocket of his purple sash. _I'll just have to go into another! _He fumbled around in the pocket, searching for the Phoniex Gate..._which wasn't in his pocket._. Puck dug furiously at the silk fabric, turning it inside out over and over as he searched for the nonexistent artifact. He turned quickly on his heel, ignoring the stares from the curious passers by. _Maybe it fell by the tree..yeah, that's it! It fell by the tree! _Puck prayed (which seemed to be a blasphemy within itself) to whatever deities were up there that no one had picked up the precious object.

He reached the tree, clawing at the grass and dirt in hopes of uncovering what he knew was his only ticket home. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the glittering gold crest laying beneath a tuft of grass. He brushed a flec of dirt away, grasping it tightly to his chest. _That was close_, he thought, holding it above his head with a firm grip. _Now I just-WHAT IS THAT SMELL?_

The smell of horse manure hung in the air as a cart full of near-rotten fruit drove by, bringing a horde of flies with it. Puck held his nose from the stench, cursing what ever idiot it was who invented air freshener for not being born in the fifteenth century. A runaway fly made his way over to the tree, stopping only to drone in Puck's ear for a moment. Puck flicked his finger at it, a reflex that he still had yet to loosesince loosing his powers. Before, he could merely snap his wrist and make an annoying object disappear, and now, one year later, he still had the tendency to go through the motions of casting spells whenevr he wanted something to go away. He was surprised however, to see the little fly drop down dead an instant later.

He dropped down on his hands, staring down at the motionless bug. With his elven eyes he could see the small burn mark across the insect's body, the result of a small lightening spell. It was a trick accomplished by the snapping one's fingers, and it was something that Puck had been unable to do for months. How had he accomplished it now? Cautiously, he snapped his fingers again, and, to his delight, brought forth a small spark. Suddenly, every limb in Puck's body felt on fire. His smile stretched farther than it had in a long time, and he let out a cry of joy as he jumped high into the air. He summersalted in midair, not caring who saw him. He jumped into the tree behind him, hopping from limb to limb and shooting brilliant colors from his finger tips. Dead limbs became new ones, bare branches blossomed with flowers, fruit grew on every bough. Nothing could contain Puck's joy at his newfound discovery. _He had his powers back._

_But why?_ Puck thought to himself as he floated back down to the ground. He propped his chin in his hand, deep in thought. He looked down at the fly. He felt sorry that the poor thing had had to die, but you could't change the past..._the past_. He was in the past! _Before_ Oberon had relinquished his powers, and _before_ he had been banished from Avalon. He still had his powers in the 1400s!

Puck looked at the Phoenix Gate still in his hand. He smiled, slipping it into his pocket. "Maybe I can stay for a little while longer," he said to himself, smirking as he stood to walk back into town.

Puck strolled nonchalantly into the square, smiling as he ignored the stares of the surrounding Parisians. He explored the busy setting like a child, bouncing around quickly and examining the things he found interesting. He remembered this time period fondly, aside from the lack of modern-day appliances, thinking back to traveling with street performers and the like. He had often worked as a 'magician', entertaining crowds and giving his earning to the poor mortals that peddled the streets. He froze for a moment, worrying that he might run into himself, but relaxed after a moment. He hadn't been in Paris in 1482. He had been touring the Ardennes at this time, so there was no worry in that. Though it might be a good idea to warn himself about the future...no. Better to leave it alone. He might accidently erase Alexander from his life.

He shook his head, eyeing something that he hadn't seen in centuries. A bright red rectangle held up by wheels was parked in the center of the village, curtains made of brightly ornamented cloth hanging in the windows and doorway. A crowd had formed around the wooden vehicle, surrounding three darker skinned indivuals dressed in garb made from the same kind of material that cloaked the caravan. One of them, a boney, squat fellow, sat on a stool blowing into a little wooden pipe, supplying music for a female, who was dancing gracefully for the crowd. The occasional plink of coins sounded as more people gathered to watch her dance and toss coins into an overturned hat on the ground. A third man remained in the caravan, conversing with a puppet likeness of himself for a small group of children.

Gypsies. Puck grinned.

Puck moved over to the crowd, watching the dancer with limited interest. His eyes strayed to the puppeteer. He had long, black hair that he wore under a wide-brimmed, purple hat with a large yellow feather in the back. He kept a short black beard on his perfect tan face, and he smiled, exposing two fang-like back teeth. His chocolate brown eyes sparkled as he continued to argue with his fabric counterpart, who was an exact copy of himself, from his long nose to this bright purple and gold clothing. Puck chuckled mischeviously. This should be fun.

Puck slid through the mass of people, trying to move unseen to the group of children. He watched the man from the corner of his eye, listening in on the conversation.

"Nope! No way! He can't possibly do it!" The puppet spoke to the children. The man popped him on the head with a stick, frowning at his little twin.

"Do not be decieved by him, children! I will prove to you that yes, Clopin i_can/i _do magic."

Puck smiled as the children cheered. What a perfect scenario.

Clopin grinned at the children, sliding a small pansy up his left sleeve, which was resting behind his back. He eyed the shy little girl that stood in the front of the crowd, her blond hair covering her timid eyes. He held out the stick that he had hit puppet with, bending his fingers to make him cover his head in fear. The children giggled, and he began the trick.

Still smilng, Puck shook his head at the man. Such a simple trick, this really would be too easy. He watched carefully as the gypsy secretly slid the tip of the hollow stick into his sleeve, waiting for just the right moment to set the trick.

Clopin managed to push the flower into the end of the stick, dipping his wrist so it would slid to the tip. He paused, keeping the children in suspense for a moment before snapping the stick forward in the air, shooting the flower from the top. A large bouquet came forth, surprising both the children and Clopin. Roses, daisies, lilacs, even lilies made up the marvelous bunch, their marvelous scents filling the air as Clopin slowly pulled them from the stick. The children cheered and Clopin, dumbfounded, could only stare in confusion at the flowers. "Oh, don't cheer him, he doesn't know how he did it!" Puppet claimed in a squeaky voice.

"Oh, hush, Puppet, of course I do!" Clopin leaned over the window sill, holding the bouquet out to the surprised girl. "Here you are, _mon petit une. _Be a good girl!" He winked at her, sending her into a fit of giggles. She shyly replied, "_Merci_," before running off with her friends. Gradually, all the children began to leave, headed for home or to watch the gypsy woman dance. Clopin sat back, still confused, about how a _petit fleur_, a little flower, could turn into a bundle of flowers all on it's own. Hearing laughter, he look up over the heads of the leaving children to see a man covering his mouth to hold back giggles.

Clopin stared intently at the man. At least, he _thought _ it was a man. The gentleman in question had long, white hair that reached his lower back, blue tights, and a purple sash fashioned like a skirt around his waist. His clothes were befitting of a gypsy, but this was the palest person that Clopin had ever seen. Clopin bent down, pretending to put away his entertaining materials, all the while keeping his eye on the stranger. _He was smirking at him_.

Puck watched the children leave, then directed his attention back to the gypsy. He was bent over now, putting away his materials. He had been fun to mess with. Puck hoped the opportunity would come again, but for the moment he preocupied himself with watching the dancer a few feet away. A good sized crowd had gathered, but their pile of coins was still looking a little small, and the girl was obviously getting tired. Puck stared at a few of the men in the crowd, the ones standing there with their jaws open at the woman. These were the married men; the men who should be working; the men who could definetely spare a few coins to help the needy. Puck's pupils glowed faintly as he concentrated on them. This spell would require more effort on his part. He watched intently as the men slowly reached into their pockets, and dropped them into the hat, their eyes glazed over in obvious stupor. Puck smiled as the coin pile grew, much to the joy of the piper and dancer.

"Hey! You!"

Puck turned quickly at the sound. The puppeteer was leaning over the end of his window, staring at Puck. He waved his hand to signal Puck forward.

Puck swallowed hard. Had he been discovered? He walked over to the man, trying to make it look natural as he brushed his long hair over the tops of his pointed ears.

The gypsy smiled. "Hello there."

"Hello," Puck spoke warily.

"I saw you watching my puppet show."  
Puck sighed inwardly, relieved. "Oh. That. I...I enjoy puppets. And your magic act was very impressive."

Clopin smirked. "Thank you. The bouquet was actually accidental."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I had planned for a simple pansy to appear, but somehow I conjured up roses and lilies and lilacs and daffodils-"

"Daisies." Puck winced, realizing what he had just done.

Clopin smiled. "What?"

"I mean," Puck swallowed again, furiously trying to come up with an explanation. Clopin mearly smiled, his silent suaveness eating into Puck train of thought. "I saw that it was daisies in the bouquet, not daffodils."

"Oh really?" Clopin frowned as though in thought. "Funny, that you could notice that from so far away." He stared into the elf's fearful eyes. Puck felt like a rabbit cornered by a fox; nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. "Your accent...it is strange. You are not from France, no?"

Puck stood still, silent with fear.

The gypsy leaned in, staring into Puck's frightened face. Frowning, he spoke with a slow and serious tone. "Who are you?"

Puck stuttered. "I am...not someone to be trifled with."

Clopin narrowed his small eyes. "As am I. Now, let's see; you are certaintly not a gypsy. Much too fair-skinned. But you dress like someone of performing nature. You must be a traveler, then, as you have no companions. The condition of your clothing indicates that you have not been in Paris long, and the cleanliness of your hair shows that you have bathed recently. There is a waterfall just down south of here; you must have been traveling in the woods. That would also explain dirt on your tights and this leaf in your hair." Clopin paused for a moment and reached into Puck's white hair, extracting a leaf. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind Puck's ear, making the latter blush under his warm touch.

"Th-that's quite a deduction." Puck stared away from his gaze.

"You interferred with my trick. You clouded the judgement of those men. I know every con in the book, every trick that be performed, yet you have stumped even me, King of the Gypsies. What is your name?"

Puck looked up at the stranger. _Could he trust him? _No, probably not. But Puck was a glutton for flattery, and anyone who was up for trickery was certainly worth speaking to. "I'm not sure that I can tell you that, yet..." he began, watching the other closely. "But you seem the type that might be worth my time. I am a magic man, I can tell you that much. I'm...not from around here, and could use a bit of assistance in relocating myself for the time being. Would you mind telling me who you are?"

Clopin stared ahead for a moment, lost in thought. The sound of the dancing gypsy's tambourine played in the background. Finally, Clopin, looking about himself for a moment, leaned in towards Puck. Speaking in a low voice, he said, "I am Clopin Trouillefou. I do not usually tell people this, but you seem a reasonable chap and anyone else who works the street definetly won't go running to the authorities. I am King of the Gypsies, as I have already said, and until I had considered myself the King of Tricksters, but I see now that that position has already been filled." He bowed deeply with flourish, removing his large hat to reveal a slightly balding head. Puck smirked at the display.

"They call me Puck," he spoke, still smiling when the surprised gypsy looked up. "And I am indeed the Prince of Tricksters, but you make a wonderful knight."

Clopin smiled, cocking an eyebrow at his newfound companion. He was a cute little runt, with his shining white hair and limber build. He might make a fine addition to his little kingdom. He was obviously ood at cons. Clopin caught Esmeralda's eye from across the way and bobbed his head. She then picked up the coins and left with the piper.

"Well, my lord," Clopin spoke, bowing his head to a bemused Puck. "Can I interest you in a little meal in my caravan?"

_to be continued..._


End file.
